What's in a Name?

Growing up I had a few issues with my name. You see, my siblings have unique names. Not weird, just ones you don’t see everyday.

My older brother is Wade. I have yet to meet another one in my 23 years of life.

One of my sisters has the name Evan. Beautiful.

My other sister is Dana. In no way is it as common as Amy.

I was 8 years old the first time I had the suspicion my name was chosen from a baby book. It all started with the act of making a phone call. Now, you might think that an 8-year-old probably isn’t making many phone calls. You’d be correct.

But when I did make the few phone calls necessary to see if my friends could play, I had to give my first and last name. FIRST AND LAST! Outraged.

Chances were when I said “hi, it’s Amy” the person on the other end would deduce that the squeaky little voice wasn’t their good friend Amy but their daughter’s friend Amy.

Regardless, my sisters got to just use their first names. Like Madonna only better since they weren’t famous or old.

Shortly thereafter I had the brilliant plan to pester my mom and dad about changing the spelling of my name. I was having an identity crisis. Didn’t they understand?!

“Come on, Moooom! Just let me spell it the cool way — A-I-M-E-E.”

She was so laid back that she probably would’ve let me. Luckily, I grew out of that phase. A-M-Y is short and sweet. Plus, it was the easiest of names to learn how to spell in sign language. Take that, Evan! And just try to write a cursive “v,” go ahead.

In my graduated life, however, it has come to my attention yet again that my name is incredibly common. I work at a large company of about 1,900 employees worldwide.

There’s not one Evan (guy or girl), not a single Wade or even a Dana.

There are 14 Amys. 14!

And just to make matters even worse, Amy is the second most popular Coke bottle for Coca-Cola’s #ShareaCoke promotion. Point proven.

My parents flipped through a baby book, dammit.